


But There Was Nothing

by desert_neon (sproutgirl)



Series: Indulgence [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, But We Know He's Alive, Canonical Character Death, Even if Clint Doesn't, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, perceived character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sproutgirl/pseuds/desert_neon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's been gone a long time. Clint welcomes him back with fantastic sex. He wants it to last forever, but he can tell something isn't quite right. Something is off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But There Was Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [prompt list](http://desert-neon.tumblr.com/post/81753304099/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you-a).
> 
> An anonymous person asked for number 19: _having a wet dream and calling the other’s name during it_.
> 
> Read the tags, guys! This is not a happy little ficlet. You have been warned.

Clint clung desperately to Phil, his fingers digging into the arm around his sternum. A part of his brain recognized that he wanted this to last, if not forever, than at least for a very long time. But it was so good, and Phil had been gone so long, and Clint wasn’t going to be able to hold out.

“Phil,” he whispered, and the answering kiss on his neck was sweet and chaste, and Clint turned his head, desperate for a proper kiss.

Phil nipped his jaw line instead, and held him tighter to his chest. Clint let his head fall back against Phil’s shoulder and just enjoyed the sensations. He could feel the soft mattress beneath his knees, the once cool sheet that was now warm underneath his skin. The slide of Phil inside him, the press of him against his back. The sweat that was forming between them.

“Phil,” Clint said again. “Fuck, babe, come on.”

He felt the press of Phil’s smile against the back of his shoulder, but still his husband said nothing, simply keeping with his steady pace. Eventually the arm that was wrapped around Clint’s waist moved, and a hand closed around his dick, and Phil stroked him, firm but slow.

“Talk to me. Oh, god, Phil, please. Talk to me.”

Phil stayed quiet. Clint listened, he strained his ears, but there was nothing.

Groaning, Clint lifted his head, knowing it was almost over and urgently needing a kiss before it ended. He angled his head as best he could in his position, seeking, but Phil kissed his temple, gave two hard, forceful thrusts, and twisted his hand. Clint came with a sob, Phil’s name loud in the total silence of the room, waking him up.

He blinked in the darkness, awareness returning slowly. He forced himself to let go of the pillow he was clutching and brought a hand to his groin, making a face at mess in his boxers. When he realized his cheeks were damp too, he scrambled out of the bed he used to share with Phil and stripped it down. Methodical and emotionless, he started a load of laundry then headed for the shower.

Ten months. The days were getting easier, with missions and work and Natasha and even, on occasion, Rogers. But the nights. Sometimes the dreams were all he could hope for, and sometimes they just made waking up hurt even more.


End file.
